User blog:NyricTheDeceiver/Chaotic Destiny (Tales of Beodon)
Taelus Sorkan was an up and coming duelmage of Akesh, originally hailing from the Republic of Lothen. His unique style of magic had earned him the name "Aer-Adept", and his win streak drew the adoration of many and the ire of a few. Now, Taelus seeks to unravel the mystery which left him on the run for a murder he did not commit. Something far more sinister is at work here, and Taelus barrels ever closer to the truth. 'Chapter 1': Enter the Wild (Journal of Taelus Sorkan, the Aer-Adept) As of late, I have been framed for murder. Lord Aros is dead, supposedly by my hands, and now the Barristers and War-Priests of Akesh call for my trial and execution. How this came to be is beyond me. Regardless, this blatant attempt to ruin my life has drawn my undivided attention and rage. I will stop at nothing to clear my name and find the true culprit. My search has brought me to an outpost in the middle of Losa Forest, located on the edge of the Rothari Mountain Range and bordering Conclave territory, that houses a man who can supposedly aid me in my quest. But the forest is roamed by dangerous beasts and patrolled by the territorial Kath, and local elven folklore speaks of a mysterious figure known as the Spiritborn who fancies itself the guardian of the forest. I must remain on guard, or I could very well end up dead. The true culprit will know justice. Perceive. Taelus closed his eyes and focused on the world around him. Mana, the life-blood of the world, the prime energy of Beodon, surrounded him; and it flowed in chaotic, random patterns, forming shapes and patterns of awe-inspiring beauty. The light of the sun fractured into thousands of hues that conventional perception could not comprehend. The treacherous majesty of the mountaintop was enhanced by an aura of ash browns and striking silvers. Losa Forest below was populated by swirling vines of browns and greens intertwined. Focus. The power of the world pulsed around him, changing course and manifesting new shapes as he attuned himself to the world. The faintest hint of ozone filled the air and entered Taelus' nostrils. This gave him pause but did not impede his goal. With each calm, slow inhalation, the strumming beat of the world grew faster, and the mana patterns took on a frenzied energy and shape. Channel. The frenzied patterns of mana, beckoned by Taelus' unspoken call, drew themselves rapidly into his body. Chaotic energies pulsed through his veins. Lightning as blue as the midday skies violently released itself from his upturned hands and raced across the entirety of his body. His once-hazel eyes glowed a similar hue, suffused with the potent energies of the land. Powerful bursts of wind followed, conjured up by his force of will. Soon, this all died down. The transition between viewing the '' Aer Fields'' and reality as presented was taxing, to say the least: Taelus' breaths had became labored; a procession of pounding and thumping had begun itself behind his eyes, and his skin ached from the raw power he had channeled. Despite this, a grim confidence had made itself known on his youthful features. It would take more than a minor headache to deter him from his quest. Reality flowed back to Taelus, once again taking on the ordered and jagged forms and geometry endemic to reality's harsh skin before it was peeled back. Taelus stood atop one of these jagged forms, peering out at the forest below him. The escarpment was formed of whiteish-silver rock that glittered with an imperfect shine as the harsh rays of the sun bore down upon them. Trees and other greenery found something congenial in the uneven, vertical rock face and took root there, aiding in the seamless transition between the Rothari Mountain Range and the Losa Forest. Below, the expansive, mysterious canopy of Losa Forest beckoned. Animalistic shouts and howls, of fear and annoyance, echoed forth from the forest. That display of power should have scared off some of the less ambitious and resilient of the beasts within. I should use this to my advantage to reach the outpost before dusk. Taelus looked towards the sky and regarded the sun, which had begun its descent towards the horizon. He turned his gaze around him to the grass and trees surrounding him before focusing once again on the blazing sphere. Intuitively, Taelus began plotting the course of the solar disk with his forefinger outstretched, as if he was painting in the winds. Two hours before sunset. I must hurry if I wish to reach the outpost soon. His mind decided, he made one inspection of his person. His hood and cape were properly attached to his person, billowing in the winds his mana channeling had created. His steel shoulder plates, segmented like the scales of a serpent and painted to resemble brass, were fastened tightly to his shoulders by a series of fasteners and buckles. His chest plate held firm and uncracked. His akralt-forged gauntlets, the masterful creations of a brilliant artificer, encapsulated his right forearm all the way to the wrist. His leather knapsack was affixed to his side; it housed his journal, a map of Losa Forest he had purchased from a vendor before embarking, several pouches full of coin, and a dagger. His kraken-hide boots were in proper working order, ready to traverse whatever terrain Taelus might find himself on. Without nary a second thought, Taelus stepped off the escarpment. He did not fall so much as he did descend at a gradual, careful pace supported by a cushion of air. Branches and leaves scraped against and tickled his skin as his descent broke the canopy of the forest and brought him lower into the forest. A soft mud slushed underneath his leather boots. On the forest floor, the sun's rays shined through the choking canopy of the ancient, towering trees in pitiful splotches. Insects of every colorful sort buzzed through the air and crawled through the mud which now so graciously stained his expensive boots, though it was of little consequence to Taelus. Roars and howls of dubious distance and direction echoed throughout the green prison he found himself in. The sour sweat of unwashed fur, mud, the distinct, sharp scent of vegetation, and a hint of blood stained the air. Taelus wrinkled his nose is disgust. Lightning anxiously crackled on his fingertips, souring the air with the more familiar stench of ozone. His blood pulsed with a frantic energy propelled through his body by uneven breaths. He was anxious, and he had right to be. Danger lurked around every corner in a land foreign to him. Death, wearing a guise of fur and claw, could seize him in one violent, bloody instant. Time was an exhaustible resource to Taelus, and he was wasting it being paranoid. I must not let fear cloud my mind. My own life is at stake here. Get it together, Taelus. Reassured of his purpose, Taelus rummaged in his knapsack, feeling around within until his fingers were meet with the wrinkled, sandy surface of the map. Extricating it from its leather tomb, Taelus unrolled it and studied the wrinkled and worn parchment. A river flowed through the forest, branching off into tributaries and a minor lake. The supposed outpost was somewhere down the river. Find and follow the river, and the outpost should reveal itself; simple, right? He returned the map to his knapsack and, having shaken off the instinctual paranoia that had begun to settle over his being like a persistent mold, began to his journey. 'Chapter 2': The Aer-Duelist (Journal of Taelus Sorkan, the Aer-Adept) Akesh is kingdom marked by paradox. They strive for order and law, but also incubate the lust for battle and combat. Had it not been for the Battle Festival and the arenas that dot this kingdom, I would have it called it a kingdom most dull. In the arenas, magi of all sorts pit their best spells against one another in a glorious display of power and wit for sport and prizes. I have found myself taken with this invigorating pastime, using it as a vent for my passion and an aide against boredom. Despite the many restrictions here, unlike in Lothen, Akesh is a wonderful kingdom. The roaring cacophony of the crowd cheering him onward towards victory. The quick, labored thumping of his heart as the battle raged on. The sweat on his brow after an arduous victory. Satisfaction. Pride. Belonging. Taelus had taken up the pastime of spell slinging, as it was called in local slang, for these reasons. It was also an effective means of venting stress as well as keeping his skills sharp. His abilities as an aermagus were already grossly predisposed to combat and little else, so why not participate in the Duel Games? It was fun, after all. Taelus' entry into the arena was accompanied by the roaring adulation and praise of an adoring crowd. He smiled and waved as he proceeded to his designated spot, denoted by an ornately carved stone pedestal. His opponent did the same, greeted by the same loving crowd that had lavished its favors upon Taelus earlier. The people of Akesh were too dignified for the pettiness of insults; both combatants were treated with respect, as was the doctrine of their god, Aseus. Taelus looked his opponent from head to toe. His opponent was a woman, a slender, beautiful Daoine- a Lesser Elf, but Taelus knew better to say such things out loud unless he wished to be the target of a vile hex that attacked him using his own life-force or a stern talking to, both equally undesirable when coming from a Daoine. He could not discern her practice of magic, but he knew he would learn soon, so he dropped it. A wave of silence rolled over the crowd as the booming voice of the announcer took precedence. He was a wiry man, though not a scrawny one, who preferred flowing capes and bright colors of red and gold to draw the attention of everyone there, as opposed to the more practical outfits of armor-like attire Taelus saw even ordinary citizens sporting. The announcer strode into the soon-to-be crossfire of wills and addressed the crowd with a voice full of gaiety and a sweeping arm motion. "Dignified attendants, be you man or woman; human or Daoine; Kath or Altasian; welcome to the Duel Games! Today, we have the returning favorite," the announcer made yet another grandiose arm motion in Taelus' direction, "Taelus Sorkan, the powerful Aer-Adept! Conjuring storms and lightning is as effortless as breathing for Taelus!" The crowd's cheering was sure to have echoed throughout the entire city, and, knowing this, filled Taelus' heart with glee. Taelus echoed their praise with laughter and sport of his own but did not veer from the land of good sportsmanship, even throwing a smile the way of his demure elven opponent; a smile which she returned. "And his opponent is the beautiful Daoine, Serays Domarian!" the applause of the crowd was equal to the cheer Taelus had received, perhaps even greater, "The very stones beneath our feet is the weapon of this lovely Elven mage!" the announcer flirted, obviously smitten with Serays beauty. Ah, a geomancer. This shall be interesting. Once the crowd's booming praise had settled again into the realm of silence, the announcer continued, "Let the Games begin!" before dissipating into a fine golden mist. An illusion! Amazing! When did they have the time to hire an illusionist-'' a volley of stones was hurtling ever closer towards him. Taelus quickly tapped into the ''Aer Fields, haphazardly drawing down and shaping its chaotic energies with those of the mana around him. He motioned his arm in a horizontal arc, and a crescent of blue lightning leaped from his fingertips and collided with the volley of stone, reducing it to a minor hail of smoke and pebbles. Taelus lungs burned as he breathed in, eliciting coughing and tears. Serays took his weakness as an opportunity; with an upward motion of her hand, the stone in front of her lifted and rose as several columns, malleable clay in the hands of her will; and with another motion, began to dart and twist towards the incapacitated Taelus like springing pythons. Taelus quelled his fit of coughing long enough to properly channel aer and mana. A radiant, crackling blue energy encompassed his hands and took refuge behind his eyes. His feet left the ground and his body soared through the sky carried aloft by conjured winds. Taelus artfully dodged the stone columns, which had altered their course to meet him in the sky, flying through narrow openings and grazing his polished armor on the stone. The fresh air now flooding his lungs felt refreshing. The wind in his hair was exhilarating. Flying was the best expression of freedom. His boisterous laughter resonated through the air. He had walked into Serays' trap. Taelus was surrounded by a deep web of stone that curved and swept gracefully. Serays grunted as she clasped her hands together, commanding the stone to move as she ordained. The many columns of solid rock converged on an imaginary vertex spiraling upwards faster than the eye could see. Taelus rushed through the sky in vain as the walls of his tomb closed in on him. The conical monolith of stone encased him within its rocky depths, accompanied by a sonorous bellow. The arena fell silent; it was as if the only sounds echoing throughout the packed arena was Serays' own labored breathing and the pitter-patter of her sweat as it rolled off of her perfect ivory skin and onto the polished stone below, but this enervated state did nothing to betray her natural beauty. She straightened her stance and flicked a golden lock of her out of her vision with idealized grace. A confident smile rested upon her soft features. Whispers and mumurs overtook the audience. Was this truly the end of the great Taelus Sorkan's winning streak? Had he finally been bested by this beautiful fae? The announcer corporealized from the shimmering dreamstuff that composed him. Shock and glee at the apparent outcome of this duel had made themselves known on his false form. The announcer opened his mouth to speak but rapidly thought twice of his decision. Perceive. Serays' felt a wave of anxiety roil in her gut; the hairs on her neck pointedly stood on end, and the air was permeated by an anxious, chaotic energy that sent shivers up her spine. He was preparing something, and she knew she had better be ready for what was coming. The announcer, or, rather, the illusionist conjuring the announcer, sensed the growing power converging on the monolith, and dissipated once more into fine golden dust. Serays sat down and closed her eyes. She felt the world's pull on her body, the rolling of the earth beneath her as the world spun onward without care of notice, the grand power that lay within the stones; she felt it all. Markings of power etched themselves onto her skin. Serene calm washed over her. First, she gazed inward, drawing on every last bit on prana that she could spare, then outwards into The Æther. Focus. The monolith was encompassed by the tell-tale pulsing blue glow of aer. The air prickled. Scathing winds stung Serays' skin like the tips of a thousand tiny daggers but a grimace did not mar her focused calm. She added her own prana, her very own life-force, to the mana she drew from the world and thrust into the The Æther; there, her spell begn to take form. Channel. With naught but a word, the monolith was shattered in the glow of a radiant cerulean aura and companioned by deafening clap of thunder. Boulders showered down on the area like a heavy torrent. Any stone unfortunate enough to stray too close to the stands was shattered against an invisible barrier. No boulder dared to venture near Serays' as she meditated, instead hanging in the air above her, nestled in a brownish-green aura. Taelus strolled out of the shattered tower of rock and towards Serays unhindered. Trails of aer and lightning sparked and raced along his body and dissipated as spontaneously as they had appeared. Blood streamed down his face from a large gash on his forehead. His eyes were alight with the wispy blue fire of aer. Taelus stunk of pulverized rock, sweat, the sharp pang of copper, and the foul stench of scorched air. Taelus dug deep into the Aer Fields and drew upon every ounce of volatile energy and power his mortal body could channel. The lightning racing across his body took on a dark, crimson hue and grew in magnitudes of potency and vigor. This is the final stand. What happens next decides our fates. Had Serays' been able to read minds, the Daoine wouldn't have been able to agree more. The boulders above her and the earth beneath her once again danced to her will. Rock meshed against rock like a wet clay molded by her thoughts. The construct grew in size as it took in the mixture of mana and prana Serays had fed its ideal form in The Æther. In a mere instant, debris had been warped into a hulking mass of earth and rock that was as tall as three men and just as wide. The crowd grew impatient, whooping and heaping praise onto the both of them, urging them towards the conclusion of their grand spectacle. Tension joined the hum of power that infused the air, adding a strange oily feel. What would be the outcome of this final climatic clash? This was their last battle, the final display of power and wit. 'Chapter 3:' Category:Blog posts